


Opening Move

by Merrypaws



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Forbidden, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:52:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/661157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrypaws/pseuds/Merrypaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a dangerous game, that he knew. But he was surprised to find that he wasn't the only one playing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opening Move

**Author's Note:**

> Response to [a song-inspired prompt](http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/7561.html?thread=8353161#t8353161) at the Transformers kink meme.  
> (The song being 'Dangerous Game' from the Jekyll & Hyde musical.)

A single arrow-head shape cut across the sky, unaware of the gaze that followed him.

Mirage stood, huddled against the side of a decimated building, safely hidden in plain sight like only he could. He felt a shiver run up his spinal strut as the blue jet looped back for a second sweep of the area.

He didn’t know when this… obsession had started, but by the time he had recognized it for what it was, he was already in too deep, and gasping for more. Most people treated the blue mech as little more than a backdrop to the rest of the command trine. He was beautiful, of course, it was hard to find a seeker who was genuinely physically unappealing, but he rarely stood out or drew attention to himself the way his trinemates did.

But if Mirage had learned anything from his time in the upper social circles, it was that if there were three mechs, of which two were loud and flashy, it was the third one you had to keep your optic on.

So he watched. Being a spy gave him ample chances for just that.

And he noticed things.

A single, carefully measured sentence spoken at the right time to divert Skywarp’s attention when the prankster of the Decepticon ranks was about to incite the ire of one of his comrades. A careful touch of wing on wing when Starscream was getting the verbal brunt of Megatron’s temper. The way he placed himself just a little behind his trinemates whenever there was squabbling among the ranks, often glancing over his shoulder. To an untrained observer he might’ve seemed bored and uncaring, but his optics were always sharp and bright. 

Once, Mirage could’ve sworn that Thundercracker had even stared down Soundwave when Starscream and Megatron were locked in a screaming match, and the TIC seemed like he was about to step in to take the warlord’s side. _Do it. I dare you._ And that had been enough. 

For all it seemed like the blue jet was near impossible to truly anger, many mechs seemed to instinctively avoid getting on his bad side. He didn’t draw attention to himself with bright colors or bulky weapon mods, but even the way he simply carried himself was somehow an indicator of quiet power. 

He had been impressed and some part intrigued. But it wasn’t until he had seen the mech fly, for the first time really watching HIM and not the trine, that he had been lost.

Mirage let his guard down enough to let his helm fall back on the wall. The sight of the seeker gleaming against the sky may not have been one of the most disturbing he had seen in all his vorns as a spy, but it still was one of the images that most persistently haunted his mind.

In flight, calling him the shadow of his wingmates was more accurate than ever. Thundercracker seemed to always be aware of even the slightest changes in his more volatile trinemates’ moods, and shifted with such grace that he doubted even the other fliers noticed him often moving to accommodate them, flawless and effortless. 

How much skill did it really take to do all that and do it so easily that no one even noticed unless they were looking for it?

At times the noblemech found himself achingly jealous of the other two seekers of the command trine. That dormant stormcloud energy of Thundercracker was never more than a step away, ready to lift them up, whether they realized it or not. 

The shiver was back, this time accompanied by a tingling in his servotips as that thought led into a speculation of what other skills the blue seeker might have. He spent a guilty moment imagining the smoothness of a wind-kissed plating and a solid presence sliding up to him, fluid as the wind.

Angrily Mirage chased those images from his mind and leaned heavily against the wall, trying to compose himself. If only the other Autobots had seen him like this, swooning like a youngling who had seen his crush from across the street. They’d think he had glitched.

In all truth, he had no idea how he had managed to keep his secret so far. It seemed impossible that no one had noticed the way his intakes would catch every time he felt the sub-sonic tremors of a sonic boom going off in a distance.

But no. Among ranks he was still known as the Noble, the elegant and poised one. Some seemed to even derive some comfort from his preternatural calm. Hound had once in passing mentioned something about his color scheme and the cultural connotations of blue and white with ice, an element that was seen as beautiful but deadly and unmovable.

_Ha! If only._

Cliffjumper knew, Primus be praised. He wouldn’t have known what to do without the constant reality check their friendship provided. Few would have suspected that the prickly minibot’s constant accusations were only meant for warnings.

_Don’t go there, it’s a dark place._

Oh, he knew. And he would’ve rather shot himself through the spark casing than betray his faction, but that thought did nothing to stall his fans whenever he woke from a half-remembered dream of shadowy wings and clever fingers. Even if he could barely look any of his fellow Autobots in the optic for the rest of the daycycle.

“Enjoying the view?”

The sudden question affected the former noble like a gunshot. His whole body jerked and his optics onlined in a flash, a gasp of static bursting from his vocalizer as he whipped around to see the very seeker that had been plaguing his mind only a few paces from him. 

Thundercracker was standing on a ramp leading up to the platform on which the Autobot spy stood. Casually, as if he had just chosen the spot by chance, but also effectively blocking Mirage’s escape route.

The seeker squinted a little, his optics flickering back and forth, not focusing on anything, but his posture remained calm and confident.

“Come on out, I know you’re there. And I know you’ve been watching long enough to take a shot at me if you were about to.”

This was in many ways like so many other times he had stood watching, invisible, admiring the seeker from the shadows as the jet carefully pulled unseen strings, guiding and guarding while other mechs didn’t even realize they were being directed into more useful things or warned away. And now he was openly displaying that easy command to his captive audience, with the calm certainty that he was right. 

Primus, he was magnificent.

In another reality he would’ve been a wingleader second to none, Mirage was sure of it.

Once more a shiver coursed through Mirage, and for the first time since going off on the mission, it was even in the smallest part caused by fear. This was the scenario of both his nightmares and his (guilty) dreams, being caught and cornered by the object of his attention. On the ledge he was standing on there was no room to dodge if the seeker opened fire, and even if he managed to shoot first, the flyer could easily just take to air where he had all the advantage of maneuverability.

The options were frightfully few. With a deep intake, Mirage deactivated his disruptor field, lifting his chin defiantly as he shimmered into view.

The seeker gave no outward reaction at the spy’s appearance out of thin air, and simply looked the mostly white mech up and down, making the noble stifle his squirming under that careful scrutiny.

“How… did you know I was there?” Mirage forced his vocalizer to form the words, more to break the whispering silence than because he was expecting the other to answer. 

Thundercracker only smiled, just the slightest curve of the lip plates, his optics still drinking in the Autobot who all but trembled with tension in front of him.

“I’m afraid it will take someone with more skill in interrogating than you to make me answer to that.”

The jet shifted, taking a small step closer and crossing his arms. He turned his body slightly, so that his wings were displayed to the noble at an angle rather than head-on. Most likely a calculated move, since the wingspan of most fliers made them look a whole lot more imposing to grounders. If the move also drew his attention to the way the light reflected off the smooth finish, Mirage had only himself to blame.

The spy took a deep intake and quickly shot that line of processing down. He wasn’t going to get himself offlined because he had been too dazzled by his opposition to pay attention.

The blue flyer watched, amused, as the spy’s minute trembling turned into bristling readiness, determination and mistrust shining in his optics.

“No need to glare like that, I’m not going to attack you.” he said, voice impossibly soft and kind. Thunder roll over parched desert.

“Pardon me if I don’t take your word for it.” _no matter how he wanted, wanted every word spoken in that tone…_

Only long experience of the politely cut-throat one-up games bored young aristocrats like him had played with one another once upon a time kept Mirage from squirming. The seeker’s voice might have been calm and soothing, but the way he was regarding the Autobot was growing in intensity, until Mirage thought he could feel it like a physical pressure on his plating.

Just then the jet stepped closer again, letting his weight rest on one pede while tilting his head to the side just slightly, like an art critic appraising a new piece brought in front of him. One servo came up, a clawed finger touching the lower lip in a thoughtful pose. Mirage watched, mesmerized, how the claw pressed into the pliable metal as the finger swept across the lip. Then those lips parted just slightly, and…

Primus, did the mech just lick his lips?

Red optics moved from his chassis up to his face at the twitch THAT notion caused in him. The seeker studied his expression for a moment, before the pale silver lips over the servo pulled into a smirk.

The noble started, momentarily forgetting where he was and colliding with the wall as he tried to rear back. Thundercracker chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to punch straight into the base of his processor and then drip down to pool somewhere in his pelvic area, warm and heavy. Some of that must have shown in his face, because the flyer’s optics narrowed, and his engine gave low, pleased hum. 

“Why do you shiver? Am I really so frightening?” The question wasn’t so much asked as audibly leered.

In a fit of stung pride Mirage pushed himself away from the wall and stood proudly in front of the Decepticon. The hum upgraded into a full purr, and the seeker seemed to lean forward just slightly, radiating approval.

The servo still on the jet’s chin moved, reaching across the gap between them in almost slow-motion. The black fingers paused just above his cheek, waiting for a sharp rebuke or a counter-move, but none came. Mirage was frozen in place, his internals working double time. After a few tense sparkbeats, the servo closed the final gap and the backs of black talons stroked along the line of the noblemech’s jaw. Much to Mirage’s astonishment, the seeker trembled almost as violently as he did at that first touch.

Silence reigned for another moment before Thundercracker’s smile softened, some part rueful and some part amused.

“You are a strange one.” the seeker mused out loud. “A noblemech who was thrown off his tower, but who didn’t shatter on impact when he landed on the harsh reality below.”

He looked so calm, so serene, Mirage could almost believe that given the chance, he would be gentle. Every wire and circuit of his being warned him not to allow his thoughts to travel that path, but Mirage felt himself wanting to, regardless.

“Stranger yet,” the flyer continued, “that even among the rubble, you still manage to shine.” His other arm was unwinding from where it had been folded over his own chassis and moved to partially circle the other mech’s waist, corralling the pale form against his.

Mirage shuddered. So sweet, so low - what that voice could do to a mech -

The jet moved closer, and some last vestige of Mirage’s senses sat up and took notice of the alarming development of things. He tried to move away from the bigger mech, but was hindered by his reluctance to dislodge the warm servo from his faceplate. 

They turned a slow circle, the seeker’s hand still on the noblemech’s chin until their original positions had been reversed. Sudden awareness of the ledge behind him and the emptiness beyond prompted Mirage to take half a step forward, further into the shadow of those waiting wings. Thundercracker stroked a thumb over his cheek, pleased at the mech’s reaction.

Experimentally, he laid his free servo against the white plating, swiping a claw along the transformation seam on the Autobot’s side. The sudden touch caused Mirage to arch with a violent shiver, his cooling fans hiccupping through a startled half-turn. Thundercracker’s optics flashed brightly before shading darker, his engine purring a long, deep note.

“It’s almost unbelievable that they really keep you around for your value for the cause.”

 _That_ effectively doused the growing heat in Mirage’s fuel lines, and his head snapped towards the Decepticon, glaring daggers with optics that were like ice despite their color.

He slapped the servo away from his face and tried to dart sideways, out of his hold, but with one arm already around his waist, the seeker had no trouble heaving him sideways, spinning them both around and flattening the noblemech against the wall.

Mirage snarled and struggled wildly against the other mech’s greater weight for a moment, but eventually gave up when it became clear that the flyer had him effectively pinned. The seeker stayed pressed against him for a few moments even after he’d stopped raging. His anger was quickly ebbing, and his sensors were starting to tingle, informing the rest of him just how nice the other body felt against his. Pleasantly heavy. More reassuring than suffocating. All of the Decepticon’s sharp angles were placed with care, so as not to scratch his plating unnecessarily. 

Just when he was about to lose the battle against his cooling fans, the jet slowly, apparently with great effort, pushed himself to an arm’s length. There was… something in his face, but before Mirage could analyze it, the seeker’s mouth shifted back into that infuriating (kissable) smirk.

“Nothing like that, I take it? Does that make me a special case, then?”

_Oh, right. He was supposed to be angry at the fragger._

The spy gave one more glare, then turned pointedly away. He was determined. He kept looking at the ground. Not anything else. Just the ground. There was no war. Definitely, definitely no damnable seeker in his personal space. The whole universe had the texture of rubble-littered ground today. 

Not about to be so easily deterred, Thundercracker went on:

“My, my… What would your superiors say about your… infatutation?”

"I wouldn't know," Mirage bit out, his voice flat, "since I didn't check with them before leaving."

Thundercracker raised an orbital ridge. "Touchy. Are you perhaps deliberately avoiding the issue?”

_Yes, but he wasn’t about to just point blank admit it._

“And you?” Mirage shot back in his best snooty upper class voice. “Not all Decepticons are simpletons. Someone will notice _something_ if you let me slip.”

There was a brief flicker of horror when he realized that there was no guarantee of the seeker letting him go, even if he hadn’t attacked yet, but he overrode it with sheer stubbornness.

Thankfully, the jet passed the notion with a chuckle, his optics roaming over the blue and white faceplate and pausing at the other’s mouth. 

“Keep sticking out that delicious lip of yours, and I'm not sure I could be held accountable for my actions."

His condescending tone angered the spy just enough that he could ignore the incredibly distracting ideas and feelings his processor was feeding to him about all the potential ‘actions’.

“You sound as if you’d know,” he started slowly. “Does Starscream use that trick on you to get his way, or did you try it on Megatron?”

Thundercracker’s optics narrowed, and his smile lost some of its edge. “I wouldn’t speak so lightly of things I know nothing about.”

“Oh, right, silly me. Starscream wouldn’t bother asking for anything when he can get it just as easily by backstabbing, and The Slagmaker isn’t accountable for his actions to anyone in any case.” 

Now, THAT got an interesting twitch from the winged nuisance. Mirage briefly wondered if he was heading straight for a mine field, but he was on a roll, and it felt so good to get even.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure Megatron won’t lay a finger on you. He knows he’d never find anyone else to sparklingsit your trine.” He mocked a thoughtful pause. “Though, without you, he probably would just slag the both of them all the sooner, which would work out just fine for us.”

A fist crashed into the wall beside his head with enough force to dent the metal surface, startling a yelp from the noble. The seeker was growling, wings flared in a dangerous angle. 

“May I remind you that your continued unharmed state is entirely dependent on my good will?” Grim determination wrapped around the voice like a steely caress that made the words taste like a kiss of energon-stained lips.

Mirage’s vocalizer appeared to have a mind of its own, now.

“I wasn’t aware you had any.”

The flyer raised his head to look the noble in the optic, and meeting his burning gaze made Mirage’s spark lurch wildly. His optics were dark with anger still - and a vicious amusement, as well as an ill-concealed hunger that both scared and fired the Autobot.

“Do continue, I’m sure I can find a way to stop that poison-spouting mouth of yours.” and his voice was again that distant rumble that promised the sudden shock of a lightning and the soothing beat of rainfall at the same time.

_Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it…_

“If you do, I hope the poison is deadly.” _Frag._

Red optics flashed, drifted down to his lips, then back up again. 

“Only one way to find out.”

That was all the warning Mirage got before the seeker lunged in to plant his lips on the Autobot’s. The grounder was shocked motionless for a moment at the closeness, and pressure and _heat_ , but then he caught himself and retaliated with a sharp nip to those attacking lips, and reached up to meet the aggressor. He growled into the kiss with anger and lust and his tongue attacked recklessly, giving everything he had, except for the one hot coil of defiance and purpose, that demanded he kiss that grin right off the slagger’s face.

It was a hot, tumbling, mindless and merciless storm of a kiss, and when it ended, Mirage couldn’t have heard the sound of a cannon going off from the thrum of rushing energon and the screech of their overworked fans.

Seeming a bit dazed himself, Thundercracker lifted a servo and touched the very tips of his fingers to the noblemech’s lips, like he couldn’t quite believe they, or the mech they belonged to, were real. Mirage tilted his head, following the servo as it glided over his face to keep the contact between his lips and those digits, for a moment a slave to his sensors which were already suffering withdrawal.

Oh. The memory of the senses -- was it not, in its own way, as exquisite as the senses themselves?

Thundercracker made a lazy, content noise near his audio, and another servo came to rest on his hip.

“Keep your optics off.”

Mirage’s optics snapped back to full power in an instant and he turned a suspicious glare at the bigger mech. Thundercracker only leered wider at him.

“So, you haven’t quite abandoned your common sense yet. Good.” the jet grinned. “Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’re _easy_ , would you?”

His chassis warm and charged up as it was, it didn’t take much for wrath to step in the place of lust.

In a flash Mirage’s fingers slipped into a seam near the seeker’s hip, jabbing sharply at a cluster of wires he knew was there. Thudercracker lunged forward with a snarl of pain, his free servo slamming into the wall beside the spy’s head, clawed fingers drawing gouges into the surface as a stinging flare ran up and down from the point where the blue fingers were wedged between his plating. For a few tense moments, they both were frozen motionless like that, until the flyer raised his head enough to make optic contact again.

“I suppose I deserved that.” 

Mirage chuckled, but that was quickly choked up when he realized the new position the sudden move had brought them into.

Before, the seeker had been all but wrapped around his frame at all times. Now, he had his fingers still wedged into the seam of the jet’s hip, and one leg all but wrapped around the blue one for better leverage. Carefully, he extracted his servo, but after that, he didn’t seem to know what to do with it. Eventually, it gravitated towards the bigger mech’s chest and rested on the edge of a vent, there.

A servo brushed his waist; sweet distraction for his overworked processor.

For one still, vibrant, intense moment that stretched on and on in silence but for their labored fans, there was no antagonism, no thought of resentment or aggression; there was nothing else to the world but the circuit-searing _presence,_ the other’s mesmerizing gaze caught in his own, and endless glowing possibilities.

Mirage couldn’t tell what in the end broke the spell. It was a taste, a scent, a shock of energy against energy. Suddenly he just became aware that there was too much empty space between the two of them.

The first timid touch of lips on lips that he initiated was like the spark that causes an explosive chain reaction. Suddenly he just found himself in a crushing embrace, and a rush of shock and physical reaction shook him as the jet’s mouth came baring down hard on his. He tasted like the ozone smell of an electric storm.

He was yanked upwards so that his pedes left the ground and then he was not-entirely gently pressed against something solid. Probably the wall. He didn’t feel like checking. His pedes still couldn’t reach the ground, and he scrambled to maintain the liplock for a moment, but the seeker solved the problem by pulling one of his legs up over his own hip. Mirage immediately made use of his new leverage by running his servos blindly over all metal within reach, searching for anything that got a reaction.

Thundercracker for his part was far from idle. He had found a gap on the sides of the spy’s helm, just beneath the vents, and another where his alt-mode’s hood folded down to his midriff. Both produced the most interesting noises, and even more interesting squirms, as he alternated the pressure between the two. 

Mirage was trying to get his processor together long enough to reciprocate properly, but the Decepticon wasn’t giving him much of a reprieve. Finally he did what any self-respecting spy did when backed against a wall; he pulled a dirty trick.

Biting his lip, he concentrated on that small bit of pain to keep his head clear for a moment, and arched away from the wall, bringing his closed interface panel flush with the flyer’s, and rolled his hips. 

Thundercracker’s servos flew to the noble’s hips, bringing their frames closer if at all possible, and the _sound_ that he made could only possibly come from a mech who had the ability to create sonic booms. For a tense moment, he only trembled, but then he leaned his weight fully against the smaller mech, mouth gifting him with kisses along his jaw, down his neck.

Mirage felt a giddy sense of power wash through him when he slipped the tips of his fingers just past the rim of the jet’s chest vents and the seeker hissed in response. Oh, he wanted him to do that _again._ Anything to see his wings tremble, and feel those clawed servos clench on his hips, to hear him express his excitement – the excitement he was causing. It was almost as addicting as his distant thunder voice.

Speaking of thunder, there was a definite undercurrent of it in the snarl near his audio, punctuated by the snap of a panel sliding back and something hot and wet pressing against his thigh.

Opening his own panel took no conscious thought, and all the rest were dashed from his mind as he was hiked up and then dropped down on the waiting spike with unerring accuracy.

The thrusts came quick and sharp, stabbing into his burning core. Servos on his hips were crushing, urgent, scratching his paint in an attempt to find a better grip. It felt like his very processor was vibrating with the roar of a seeker claiming, marking and possessing his lover. Mirage wailed, his head thrashing from side to side as his senses were assaulted in every way imaginable.

The pale mech struggled, clawing mindless at the jet’s back as far as he could reach around the impressive wings. The pain only served to excite his lover, the red of the fevered optics burning brighter. He was so strong, he was incredible, he was _killing_ him, he was _tearing him apart and Primus don't let him stop please don’t let it end-_

And then his mind was blown away as energy crackled across his frame, into the seeker who was snarling through his own overload, back into his own frame to explode in multicolored sparks behind his optics.

When he became aware of the world outside his own frame again, he realized that Thundercracker had fallen on his knees, and they were both leaning heavily against the wall. He squirmed a bit, every joint protesting against the movement, but eventually the seeker stirred enough to shift to the side. What followed would have been a bout of awkward re-arranging of various limbs if either of them had the energy to be embarrassed, but in the end they wound up sitting side-by-side, their backs to the wall. After that, they simply rested for a while, enjoying the languid cooling of their frames.

“It was an uneventful patrol.” Thundercracker broke the silence. “I didn’t see anyone or anything suspicious.”

It took a moment for Mirage’s processor to catch up to the situation, but finally the dots connected, and his vorns as a spy prodded him into pressing: 

“Anything?” 

Half a smile. “Some evidence of recent Autobot activity on sector five, but there was nothing to see.”

“Your trine –“

“Has had their rear thrusters covered by me often enough that they know when to keep their mouths shut.”

Mirage stared the other in the optic for a long moment. On one hand, Decepticon – amazing ‘face or not – on the other, he would pretty much be damning himself too if he told… 

Finally he offlined his optics, cycled his vents through a full intake, and nodded. He didn’t open his optics while he heard the jet getting on his feet. Or when there was a brief, soft stroke across his cheek, even though his spark seized at the feel of it. But before he even fully recovered from that, the sound of jet engines started and then faded away in the distance.


End file.
